Moose of all Trades 9

Long before Carrefour, Safeway and other megamarkets took over the world, there was the hole-in-the-wall dokkaneh – the ultimate Middle-Eastern small business. A few scattered shelves and a couple of coolers, packed with anything from laundry detergents to dairy products, 
or from candy to a-few-days-old boxes of fruits.

I walked to Abu Mahmood’s little store with unprecedented confidence – after all, this is one of the few jobs that I have enjoyed considerable exposure to. “I worked as a student store manager in college,” I told him, by way of a job interview. “I did everything a dokkanji would do: Serve long lines crowding the store, close the cash register, and stock coolers with soda.” Although unimpressed with my resume, Abu Mahmood’s eyes lit up when he heard “stock the coolers”, and once he realised that I could be doing it for free, he welcomed me on board. What I thought would be another day behind a desk became quickly another bout of physical labour – not that I was complaining.

While I carried water cases in and out of the store and arranged yoghurt cups in chronological order – the earlier the expiry date, the nearer they are to the front – the conversation inevitably drifted towards, what else, high prices. “It is becoming barely feasible,” said Abu Mahmood, complaining in a typical Arab fashion. “It got to a point that I sometimes have to ask the customers for tips.”

With the increasing number of people coming to the store to get that one last item before iftar – two lemons, some salt, a 2-litre Pepsi bottle, etc – I was finally given my opportunity to prove myself as a veteran cashier. Abu Mahmood left the boss’s chair to guide a customer to the powdered juice “section” (where a little sugar packet with “fresh” printed on the package costs three times more than the one without the absurd claim), and I was left in charge of the next transaction.

I was hoping for a multi-item sale, an opportunity where I could do the old dokkanji routine of looking at the items, mumbling some numbers and coming up with a figure without a calculator or cash register. But all I ever got was “one pack of Winston Lights”. So, I slammed the pack on the counter, shoved the money in the drawer and documented the transaction on a torn piece of cardboard – after all Abu Mahmood seems to be keeping an accurate inventory. 

Hours lasted: Three hours and a half
Difficulty: My boss claims it gets much worse after iftar when the shop is raided by kids frantically looking for candy.
Money earned: After 
all the complaining, I 
felt like donating money to the shop owner.
Career possibilities: Unless one runs his own shop there is little growth potential for an assistant dokkanji.